


End Transmission

by Atrop0s



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AU, M/M, neil's a ghost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atrop0s/pseuds/Atrop0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Neil dies he becomes a ghost trapped in Andrew's apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many ways this can go so we'll see. You can also find this on [tumblr](http://miniatureminyard.tumblr.com/post/149228191199/the-ghost-au-nobody-asked-for-but-im-inclined-to) if you want. Title taken from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K60j0lqxFBc) song

Everything in the apartment was in the same place it had been three weeks ago when Neil last visited, except now it was blurry, as though he was looking through a window that hadn’t been cleaned in years. He wondered if this is what the world looked like to Andrew when he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

The corners of the table weren’t sharp lines but rather soft and rounded, and the reflections off metallic objects seemed brighter than he was used to. When he reached a hand out to place on the kitchen bench the gesture seemed miles away, and when his hand came into contact with what would have been a cold surface, he didn’t feel it. Withdrawing his hand, he made his way into the living room, his fingers trailing along the wall idly.

Walking around the living room, he skimmed his hand over every surface, every object and every texture that he could find, but all he could feel was a numb sensation coursing through his fingertips like pins and needles. _Is this a dream?_ He’d never had a dream like this before, where it felt both real and unreal at the same time.

This windows in their apartment were covered in condensation, courtesy of the winter chill. He hovered his hand in front of the glass, but before he could touch it, the sound of a key in the front door drew his attention away and he spun around.

Andrew.  

He had at least four tubs of ice cream cradled in his left arm, and the thick wool of Neil’s jacket that he’d stolen three weeks ago kept the icy containers from touching his skin. In his right hand his keys were clutched in a white knuckled grip, and no doubt if he opened his hands Neil would see red indents from the teeth. Neil watched him drop the ice cream unceremoniously onto the kitchen island, and Andrew paid no attention to the one that rolled down the length of the counter and onto the floor. Neil tracked Andrew’s movements from the kitchen to the five paces into the living room where he sat down on the edge of the couch, body stiff and eyes vacantly staring at an invisible spot on the wall.

He tried calling out, but Andrew didn’t so much as twitch. His voice echoed in the back of his mind, and it reminded him of the time that Nicky yelled out to him at the far end of the corridor at the Foxhole, voice bouncing off the walls and fading the closer it got down to him. All of his senses felt muffled, and once the echoing died down, a faint ringing took it’s place. _Has that always there?_ Now that he’d noticed it, he couldn’t ignore it. It felt like the time his mother had beaten him until his head spun, minus the aching bones and bruised skin. Pushing through the noise in his head, he followed Andrew over to the couch and sat down next to him.

Although he was only scant millimeters away from Andrew, he felt no body heat. It was an invisible barricade made of ice, and he resisted the urge to shiver. Everything felt so damn _cold._

Andrew tossed his keys from hand to hand, the jingling sound was similar to the ringing now prominent in Neil’s head. Just when Neil thought he would go cross-eyed from following the keys back and forth, Andrew missed the next throw and they dropped onto the hardwood floor with a dull thud. Rather than picking up, as he thought Andrew would, he just stared at them for a few minutes before leaning back against the back of the couch, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket as he did so. He watched Andrew’s hands shake as he fumbled with the lighter, and after three unsuccessful attempts at lighting up, he managed to on the fourth. With his head tilted to look at the ceiling, Andrew took a long drag, and when he breathed out it was anything but smooth. Once Andrew finished the first cigarette, he lit another, and seven more after that.

He didn’t understand what was happening. It no longer felt anything like a dream, but if it wasn’t that, then what? Had he been knocked unconscious at the last game? Did he have a concussion? Was he hallucinating?

The answer to his questions came in the form of Andrew’s breath after a soft exhale of smoke.

‘Dead.’

It sounded like Andrew was tasting how the word felt on his lips now that it held a new meaning. His brow was furrowed, his thoughts no doubt running a mile a minute as he tried to catch up with them. A bitter laugh from Andrew broke the silence of the apartment. Too loud, too sharp. It cut off as abruptly as it began.

_I’m dead?_

The words kept repeating in his head, _I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead_. Then, _no, Andrew, I’m right here. Can’t you see me? Why can’t you see me? Look at me!_ He waved a hand desperately in front of Andrew’s face, but he remained blank and immobile. Panic set in and he pushed away from Andrew to the other end of the couch. Vaguely he thought that if this were real, Andrew would have scowled at him for the abrupt movement.

With his legs pulled up to his chest, he ran his hands roughly through his hair before wrapping them tightly around his knees. He felt too many emotions all at once, they were crashing down upon him, suffocating what little existence he now had. Underlying all those emotions was the constant buzz of desolation. Too much, too much. His eyes stung with unshed tears, and he hastily looked away from Andrew. He couldn’t bare to see him like this, he shouldn’t be able to watch Andrew when he thought he was alone, it didn’t seem fair.  

He sat with his chin on top of his knees, only half looking out the window. The condensation was melting away, leaving long lines of clear glass in its wake, and through them he could see the sky beginning to lighten. _Sunrise, Abram, death_. He never thought he would experience all three seemingly random truths at the same time. Absent-mindedly, he realised they’d been sitting together for nearly five hours.

Movement in his peripheral vision caused him to look over. Andrew’s hand was against his neck, his fingers tapped erratically along to his heartbeat. It was faster than Neil ever remembers it being. Was it that fast when Andrew realised Neil had vanished to Baltimore all those years ago? Was it that fast when he let Neil be on top for the first time?

Lifting his own hand up tentatively he pressed two fingers to his pulse point, mirroring Andrew, only he didn’t tap along to his heartbeat. There was nothing there.


	2. City Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrew's POV

Neil wasn't meant to be visiting for another two days, so it wasn't as though anything had changed.  

Andrew had gotten a few hours of sleep before the nightmares had crept unwanted into his unconscious, jerking him violently awake. Very rarely he remembered what happened in them, but he always woke with the feeling of phantom hands on skin that were unbidden. Unable to sleep again he made his usual coffee, and while the water boiled he threw the melted ice cream into the freezer. Taking his coffee to the window seat in the living room, he smoked cigarettes for breakfast and looked out at the city below. The only difference was that he didn't receive a text from Neil. 

Last night his thoughts had been like a hurricane, jumping from one to the next with no time to form any sort of coherence. When he woke up today, there was none of that, only an empty feeling that was all too familiar. A hollow shell. If someone peeled back a layer all they would find is a black hole; the depth endless. There was everything and nothing inside of him at the same time, and all he could manage to do was sit in silence. 

When midday came around he heard his phone ring, and after stubbing out his current cigarette on the windowsill, he got up to answer it. He wasn't surprised to see that it was Wymack, seeing as he'd been the one to call him last night. He remembered climbing up the stairwell to his apartment, cold ice cream turning his fingers numb, and Wymack's words doing the same to the rest of his body. He shoved those thoughts aside and flicked open his phone. 

'Yes,' His fingers twitch at the word, which will never sound the same to him again. He can't help but think of all the times Neil had whispered in his ear,  _it's always yes._ Neil should have never said such stupid things. 

'They're allowing people to see him. Thought you should be the first to know.' Wymack's voice was carefully neutral, as though he isn't sure what might set him off. It was probably for the best that he was. 

'I told you last night not to call me again, so fuck off.'  

'Andrew-' 

He shuts the phone off and grips it hard until he hears the cheap plastic creak beneath his fingers. Within the space of ten seconds, his keys are in his hand and he's out the door.  

It was only a few hours drive to the hospital that Neil was at, so by the time he arrived the sky was only just beginning to darken. Street lamps had started to come on, their bright lights matching the glow of the stars that had started dotting the sky. He'd looked at the same sky his whole life, but tonight it seemed different. Far away and unattainable. Neil had looked at him like he created that very sky with his own bare hands.  

 He walked through the doors and bypassed administration. He read the signs on the walls and found his way to the front desk of the morgue. When he said who he was here to see, the lady looked at him with pity and sadness in her dark brown eyes and he fought the urge to claw them out with his fingernails. 

The room he was left alone in was white and chrome from floor to ceiling, and dim overhead lights surrounded the table that housed Neil's lifeless body. The sterile smell made him want to throw up more than any drugs he'd taken in the past had. There had been a dim part of himself that desperately wanted to believe that Wymack had been lying, but staring down at the face he knew better than his own, that dim part joined the rest of the darkness that awirled inside. 

He digs his fingers into a scarred cheek that used to be flushed pink and warm to the touch, but now the cold of Neil's skin creeps through his fingertips and over his skin. Goosebumps begin to break out over his arms and scalp. With a gentle touch he had never afforded Neil when he was alive, he runs a thumb over lips now turned blue; if he ate blueberries his would be the same shade. Underneath Neil's eyes are a soft shade of purple born from lack of sleep, whereas the bruises to his temple were given from a careless drunk driver. At least his eyes were closed. Neil's shone bright like the stars outside, and he wouldn't have appreciated seeing the lifeless blue eyes of Nathan that Neil had once told him about. His fingers grip tightly on strands of auburn hair that would have been painful and thinks,  _I hate you._ _I should have killed you when I had the chance_. He unwinds his fingers from Neil's hair, and without so much as a backwards glance he shoves his way out of the hospital, ignoring the looks the nurses send his way as he shakes out a cigarette. 

In the distance of the parking lot he can see a tall man leaning against the Maserati, and as he gets closer he recognises Wymack. At his feet is a bag he recognises as Neil's. Wymack's hands are held up in an act of innocence, 'You said not to call, not to track you down in person.' He couldn't deny those words, considering he had only said not to call, so instead he waited in silence for the man to continue. 'I got one of the nurses to call if you showed. I only wanted to give you his things from the dorms.' He nudged the bag with his toe. 

After staring at the bag for a few minutes, he throws it in the back seat, then climbs in behind the wheel. With half a glance at his old coach, he tell him not to cremate Neil, and then he's pulling out of the parking lot. 

When he gets back to the apartment he tosses Neil's bag in a random direction. He doesn't want anything to do with it, or anything else for that matter. That was that. End of the line. Last page in an excruciatingly long book. It was easy to turn everything off when there wasn't someone prying apart your carefully crafted being. Neil had been chiselling away at his apathetic exterior since he had opened his smart mouth. Neil had _taken and taken_ without so much as touching him. Anything that had been revealed over the years was now smoothed over; all the cracks Neil had made were now filled in.


End file.
